We're good enough, I consider, nous autres, for anything.

But she's TOO good.

There's the difference.
They wouldn't look at me." Strether, lounging on his divan and still charmed by the young girl, whose eyes had consciously strayed to him, he fancied, with a vague smile--Strether, enjoying the whole occasion as with dormant pulses at last awake and in spite of new material thrust upon him, thought over his companion's words.

"Whom do you mean by 'they'?
She and her mother ?" "She and her mother.

And she has a father too, who, whatever else he may be, certainly can't be indifferent to the possibilities she represents.